De Gier observed the growing crowd milling about on the bridge. He appraised the crowd's nature and nodded approvingly. He subsequently studied the row of gabled houses displaying their seventeenth-century splendor through the branches of majestic elms lining both canals.

"A lovely spot, Grijpstra. This, I believe, is one of the better locations of the inner city. We are surrounded by decorative and beautiful architecture."

Grijpstra slipped his watch off his wrist and dangled it in front of de Gier's eyes. "It's past ten-thirty, sergeant. We are overdue at Headquarters. The job is done and we aren't working this weekend. The weekend has started."

De Gier didn't respond. Grijpstra sighed.

"We don't have to be here, Rinus, we have to be in a pub. We should be ordering our first drink. You could be telling me a story and I could be listening to you."

De Gier pointed at a cafe" ahead, a little to the right It occupied the lower story of a proud and delicate building, and its sign, the goal of the sergeant's long and straight index finger, proclaimed BEELEMA in elegant script; the word was surrounded by a garland of iron leaves.

"I haven't been to Beelema's for years, but I believe that it still attracts an intelligent clientele."

Grijpstra's calm persisted, but the wrinkles around his eyes moved.

"Beer!" he said slowly. "But I won't have it there, and you can't have any. It makes you linger near trees and I get tired of waiting for you. I'll buy you a jenever. Let's go."

De Gier's gaze slipped back to the crowd. The crowd had doubled in the last few moments and began to obstruct the quay.

"Go!" Grijpstra's elbow prodded de Gier's sensitive side. "This has nothing to do with us. Crowds are for the uniformed police. They're here. See? Their car is parked behind that truck, and there's a constable. He can take care of this. He's an excellent constable. His name is Ketchup. He's of the local station."